


always, always

by traceylane



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: AU, M/M, high school age au??, tiny bits of mingally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2541107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traceylane/pseuds/traceylane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-"shit i kissed my best friend and booked it" au-</p><p>And that was it. Lips on his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	always, always

“Hey, Minho, can I tell you something?”

As is usual at midnight on a Saturday, they’re using Minho’s PS3.

His living room has been trashed as much as two teenage boys can trash a room; that is to say, quite a lot. There are crushed chips on the floor, an empty pizza box, foil wrappers covering up a soda stain in the carpet that Minho says he plans to “deal with sooner or later”.

He still made Thomas take off his shoes, though.

Minho keeps his eyes on the screen. “If you make some stupid headshot pun I will murder you for real.”

Thomas kicks his shoulder, “No, come on.”

Minho takes a sip of soda, chokes when he’s killed by an NPC, and coughs out, “Fine, what is it?”

“…It’s kind of… bad.”

“Ok, whatever, doesn’t matter.”

But Thomas says nothing.

Minho looks at him. “What? Just say it—”

A grenade flies out from nowhere on Minho’s half of the split screen while he's distracted and he dies in a flash of red.

“Jesus chr—dammit, Thomas.” He pauses the game before he can re-spawn and turns to his friend. “Seriously? Bro, you know I’m with you no matter what, but if you killed someone or some shit, you have to spit it out so I can go out and buy a shovel and some lighter fluid.”

“I didn’t  _kill_  anyone!”

Minho’s eyes widen. “…Worse?”

“NO.”

Minho sighs, “Then what is it?”

Thomas plays with a loose string on his pants, mumbles something.

“What?”

 Thomas clears his throat. “…Newt and I… kissed.”

And Minho’s controller drops from his hands.

 “You said it wasn’t worse.”

“It isn’t!”

“Are you sure, dude? This is Newt we’re talking about. Like,  _our_  Newt. Best-friends-since-preschool Newt.”

“I know.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I  _know_.”

Minho runs a hand through his hair, “When?”

“Last night.”

“Jesus,  _how_?”

“I was staying over after Brenda’s party, and I don’t know. We were just talking.”

He doesn’t admit what ‘talking’ involved. He doesn’t say how they were lying beside each other on Newt’s bed, legs overlapping. He doesn’t say exactly how dreamily they were staring at each other, or how they were both pretending to be more drunk than they actually were—as in, not very drunk at all—to excuse the soft brushing of their fingertips on each other’s skin.

(And he may or may not have had his arm around Newt’s waist, but even Thomas isn’t sure about that, so he’s certainly not going to mention it to Minho.)

Minho raises an eyebrow. “‘Just talking’? Should I just assume you’re going to kiss everyone you talk to? Are you gonna kiss me right now?”

“Shut up, okay? It was different.”

“Different how?”

Thomas swallows, remembering.

\--

_“I don’t know, Tommy. Sometimes I just feel kind of… empty, you know?”_

_“No, I don’t. Tell me.”_

_Newt turns to look at him. “Sad, I guess,” he says. “Alone.”_

_Thomas frowns. “You’re not alone, though.”_

_“If you say so.”_

_“You’re not,” Thomas says, propping himself up on his elbows and staring hard at Newt. “I’m here.”_

_“Not always.”_

_“Yes, always! Always, always.”_

_And Newt smiles at that, shakes his head. “Always, always, then.”_

_And that was it. Lips on his._

\--

“Just, different.”

Minho inhales deep behind his hands, “Okay, you talked, you kissed him, then what?”

“And then… I left.”

Thomas looks down at his lap, remembering how he had pulled away, grabbed his stuff and flown out of Newt’s house.

“You  _dick_.”

“I  _know_!” Thomas sprawls himself out completely on the couch, “Fuck, it was so bad, dude. You should’ve seen his face when I ran out of there.”

“I can imagine.”

“No, you can’t—shit, I’ve never seen him so upset before. And this is Newt so that’s—that’s  _saying_  something, you know?”

Minho nods. He does know.

Thomas covers his face with his hands. “Now he fucking hates me,  _fuck_. Fuck, I fucked up, Minho.”

And there’s a short silence as the two of them take in the gravity of the situation. Thomas wants to scream, and Minho is chewing at his thumbnail, contemplating something.

“Thomas. Listen.”

“What?”

“I’m going to tell you something that Gally told me. About Newt, about you.”

Thomas groans, “ _Gally_? What would Gally know about me and Newt?”

“More than you would think, I’m pretty sure.”

“What did he say?”

Minho clears his throat, “He said, and I quote, ‘Those two are gonna start fucking any day now.’”

Thomas stares at him. “Sure sounds like Gally.”

“True, but he’s right. I didn’t see it then, but I guess he’s called stuff like this before. He’s kind of got a knack for it.”

Thomas remembers when Brenda and Teresa had announced their six-month anniversary to them all a few weeks ago; of course, no one had known they were even together, except for Gally, who had rolled his eyes and said “Six? Could’ve sworn it’s nearly been eight.”

“Yeah… I guess.”

“I think he could kind of tell that Newt… likes you. Has liked you, whatever, which makes sense.”

Thomas looks at him. “It does?”

“Are you kidding me? Now that I think about it, you guys are way too touchy.”

“What? No, we’re not!”

“Plus he planned your last two birthday parties—”

“—Well, that’s what friends do for each other—”

“—And then the whole ‘Tommy’ thing.”

“ _It’s a nickname!_ ”

“A pet name, you mean,” Minho corrects, and Thomas gives up, collapsing back down on the couch.

“…Newt likes me?” He says, supposedly to himself, but Minho says “Pretty much.”

Thomas sighs, “God, kill me.”

“What about you? Do you like him?”

And Thomas thinks. Thinks about how he collects notes from every class Newt misses when he’s sick, how he offers to carry Newt’s stuff every day—insists, until Newt gives in and hands him his lightest textbook.

About how he takes Newt aside on the days when he’s more quiet than usual and asks if he’s all right, how heartbroken he feels when Newt gives him a smile and says “No, not really.”

About how he’ d never gone more than eight hours without talking to Newt until they had kissed, how there hasn’t even been a text since then.

How hollow that makes him feel.

“Oh,  _fuck_.”

“Yeah,” Minho says. “That’s what I thought.”

\--

Newt hasn’t left the house all day.

He hadn’t slept the night before—had tossed and turned for hours until the sun rose and he was left staring up at the ceiling, hopeless.

What had he  _done_?

Thomas is—was?—his friend. His best friend. His sweet and beautiful and stupid best friend who would love him forever but not like  _that_. Not like Newt wanted him to.

When he had gotten up that morning he had checked his phone for a missed call, a message, but there was nothing. He kept checking every thirty seconds after that, then every minute, then every hour until it was 10pm and Newt had thrown his phone across the room.

And at 12:53AM he hears it vibrating on his hardwood floor.

_[Thomas]:  we need to talk._

(Punctuation. Thomas never uses punctuation, and this message couldn’t be more terrifying.)

_[Newt]: ive got nothing to say to you_

(Because Newt wants to avoid that conversation—the “Nothing’s changed, we’re still friends,” because Newt knows that’s not true, the “That kiss wasn’t a big deal, anyway,” because it _was_ , it was, no matter how much Newt will smile and nod and agree.)

_[Thomas]: well then think of something bc im outside_

(…What?)

Newt looks outside his window and sees Thomas waving up at him, his bike thrown down on Newt’s front lawn.

And he runs his hands through his hair, nearly tears it out as he paces through his room—hops on the bed, whispers “Fuck, fuck, fuck” to himself before looking out the window again and pointing Thomas towards the yard.

He creeps through the house and meets him in front of their back door, not bothering to turn on the light.

“Newt,” Thomas says breathlessly when he sees him, and Newt can hardly stand it.

“Look, my parents are asleep, and I’m exhausted—I haven’t been able to sleep at all—”

Thomas’ eyes widen. “Shit, Newt, I—”

But Newt cuts him off, blushing, says “No, not because of you! I mean—well, yes, I’ve been thinking—”

And he bites his tongue, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Just—can this wait until later?” Much, much later. Maybe even never.

But Thomas says “No, it can’t,” and grabs onto his arm before he can turn around and shut the door in Thomas’ face.

“Look, I—I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, either. And, fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to run out on you, man, I was just—it was—”

“A mistake,” Newt finishes for him, but Thomas’s fingers tighten on his arm.

“No, God, no! I was just… surprised? I don’t know, I didn’t know what to think. I panicked, and I’m so, so sorry.”

But Newt is quiet. So Thomas’ hand moves down Newt’s arm to hold tight onto Newt’s cold fingers, like he always does when Newt is too quiet.

And because it doesn’t look like Thomas has the heart to say it, Newt says, as calm as he can, “I still want us to be friends.”

“What?”

“I don’t want this to be a thing between us, okay?  I don’t want us to become weird around each other because of—of some stupid kiss that happened after a few goddamn drinks.” He looks down at bare feet on the patio. “Just forget it. Please.”

Thomas stares at him, open mouthed.

“No—Newt, you don’t get it. I don’t want to forget it. I’ve thought about it, a lot, and it definitely, definitely wasn’t a mistake. The only mistake I made was not doing it earlier, honestly, and I’m a moron and I’m sorry about that, too.”

Newt looks up at him. “Oh.”

“…Do  _you_  think it was a mistake?”

“No!” Newt says, so loud that he slaps his hand over his mouth and they stand in silence for a few moments to make sure Newt’s parents don’t catch them.

And when Thomas is sure they’re still alone, he steps even closer, so their toes almost touch and he’s near enough to count Newt’s long, blond lashes.

“Newt, do you like me?”

Newt flounders. “I—what kind of question—you can’t—I—”

He makes more choking noises, but Thomas doesn’t let go of his hand.

So he breathes. “—Yes. Okay? Yes. I like you. I bloody  _care_  about you.” He swallows, looking Thomas in the eye, though his expression is unreadable.

“Happy?”

And Thomas exhales, wrapping his arms around Newt’s shoulders and murmuring into Newt’s neck, “God, yes.”

And that was it. Lips on his.

\--

_\--_

Minho’s texting Gally a few days later.

_[Gally]: Thomas and Newt_

_[Gally]: theyre fucking y/n_

_[Minho]: yes for sure_

_[Minho]: maybe not fucking tho_

_[Gally]: holding hands then idk_

_[Gally]: whatever pansies do_

_[Minho]: lol_

_[Gally]: so you owe me like $20_

_[Minho]: how about dinner? <3_

_[Gally]: what_

_[Gally]: fuck you dont screw with me minho_

_[Minho]: i thought you were good at picking up signals_

_[Minho]: guess not_

_[Gally]: what??_

_[Minho]: see u at 7 then?_

_[Gally]: WHAT??_

_[Minho]: 7 it is_

 

**Author's Note:**

> First of all—notice how I can’t keep minho out of my fics, even my newmas ones jfc (also I hope you appreciated that not-so-stealthy stealth!mingally uwu)
> 
> Second—sorry for my attempts at gamer lingo?? I tried to avoid it lol
> 
> Third—so with this ive written for all variations of the trio wow these three will be the death of me
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READIN//if you have prompts pls ask at my [tumblr](http://amazerunners.tumblr.com/ask) pls pls ily


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